


A Life In Free-Form

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Poetry, idk why i write this shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: Various poems I wrote for Lovelace.





	1. The Death of Isabel Lovelace: A Poem in Three Parts

I.

death comes not with his scythe and robe and bones  
death is not cold  
instead, death burns like fire into your quiet sleep,  
roaring with solar wind  
like pain  
and monsters  
as the ice around you evaporates instantly.  
it scalds your skin,  
before the heat melts it off your bones.  
there’s no time for last thoughts  
just enough to scream  
(mindless, an animal noise from your human mouth).

then you are reborn.

II.

death comes not on wings of night and shadow   
gliding towards you in silence  
in bed  
on earth   
(like you deserve).  
instead it rides on the sonic boom of a bullet  
burrowing into your skull  
too fast to see  
and your last thought   
(because now there is time, now you are not asleep)  
(you have had time to prepare),  
your last thought is,  
“could it really have happened any other way?”

then you are reborn again.

III.

you are reborn again, and you see their faces  
the disgust and fear twisting their features  
the revulsion that makes them grit their teeth  
and avoid your eyes  
(you note that there are fewer of them than there were before)  
you see them  
and all their fear  
and you wonder,  
“how long will it be before death comes again?”


	2. The Modern Sisyphus

your troubled sleep is nightmare-filled  
and restless  
until the alarm noise goes from the inside of your head  
to the outside  
and you jerk awake  
again.

one more day and one more thing to fix.  
the engines  
the navigation  
the temperature  
the steering  
the solar panels  
so many things to fix.  
square one again for you.  
start back at the beginning.

no fulfillment  
no closure  
no gold star sticker with your name written on it  
and no revenge. 

they, at goddard futuristics, at canaveral,  
they have given you a punishment that will never be done.  
a station to keep fixing, over and over  
and over  
even after you freed yourself.   
work or die. 

roll the rock up the hill, isabel.  
watch it fall again, and know  
that all you get for your efforts  
is more work  
back-breaking, bone-straining work  
work that is never, ever done.


	3. Rebirth

when you come home, you visit your grave.

it’s overgrown.

moss on the headstone,  
weeds in the plot.

you had hoped for-  
you don’t know.  
you had hoped for something that said people cared,  
when you were pronounced dead.  
you had hoped for something well-tended  
something with flowers lying nearby  
something that said that no matter what  
no matter if goddard had tossed you away like garbage  
someone had cared.

but no one visited.

no one kept your grave clean.  
(not like minkowski’s, meticulously kept and beautiful)  
(even for what it was)  
(when she looked at it, you saw the conflict in her face)  
(you don’t know what she’ll choose.)

no one left gifts on it.  
(not like eiffel’s, as unkempt as yours)  
(but with a little bouquet of violets on top)  
(looking freshly picked.)  
(he cried when he saw it.)

your grave is a jungle atop an empty casket  
rotting into the ground.  
worm food.  
eiffel and minkowski try to ask  
try to talk  
let them.

you have nothing to say anyways.

when you come back it’s the dead of night  
no one around  
only you, dressed all in black.  
when you come back you have a sledgehammer over your shoulder  
and a can of spray paint in your bag  
and fire in your eyes.

breaking the memory of your death,  
the marker of how no one cared,  
breaking it makes you feel better than you have in a long time.  
and you laugh as the stone crumbles.

then  
when the headstone is gone  
you kneel and spray-paint the grass with your words.

the tombstone had said,  
_Isabel Lovelace,_  
_Gone too soon._

now the grass says,  
_Isabel Lovelace,_  
_Forgotten no more._


End file.
